I don’t know how the distance of seventeen years feels to my readers. At once, it is a blink; another, a voyage back into the distant past. But in July 2006 — in this case, on a Wednesday night — I could park my car at the train station, take the Long Island Railroad and the downtown “A” to The Cajun, near 18th Street on Eighth Avenue. Once inside, I could greet Sean the bartender, or perhaps Arlene [Lichterman] who can be heard in the background, and Herb [Maslin], who ran the place. I could find a table close to the bandstand, order some diligently mediocre food (I visited there enough times to eat my way through the menu in search of satisfaction). I could say hello to the musicians who knew me or introduce me to others, ask to set up my camera, and prepare to enjoy and record some classic jazz.
Barbara Rosene’s painting, above, brilliantly evokes The Cajun’s slightly worn pretensions to splendor, much more than the photograph here.
A few days ago I encountered the neat piles of mini-DVD discs I had recorded in the years before I graduated to my current camera.
In 2006, I had a Sony model that recorded on a disc the size of a bar coaster that held at most 30 minutes of visual and auditory information. Out of curiosity, I started to play one of the discs, and was buffeted by nostalgia and appreciation at once. Because I wanted to be sure of my judgment of these performances, I asked a musician-friend who played the Cajun often if I should make these performances public, and he said yes. We agreed that the band had imperfections but also brilliance. You will be able to tell which is which.
The band, “the Gotham Jazzmen,” who had a regular gig at the New York Public Library’s Donnell branch, were a repertory company, combining professional musicians who wanted the opportunity to play and others, aspiring to professionalism. The leader was pianist-singer, Waller-and-klezmer-inspired Peter Sokolow; Dick Waldburger, string bass; the much-missed Peter Ecklund played cornet; Leroy “Sam” Parkins brought his reeds and asides. (After JUST FRIENDS, he asks me if I’ve gotten “anything good.”)
These videos remind me of Ecklund’s magnificent lyrical steadiness, his dancing phrases always landing on their feet, and of Sam’s daring explorations in sound and space. I knew Sam better but I miss them both.
Others in the band that night were James Lincoln Collier, trombone, who had written an early ungenerous biography of Louis Armstrong, and the drummer may have been Joel Schiavone.
One of the nice things about Peter Sokolow’s leadership — he also can be heard asking his colleagues what they would like to play — is that he leaned towards Thirties Swing and timeless Mainstream, with repertoire not always heard in groups of this ilk.
Here are two segments: I recorded the entire evening, almost two hours of performance, and would post more if there was enthusiasm about the idea. Comments, anyone? But only positive ones, please.
HONEYSUCKLE ROSE (vocal PS) / EMALINE / ALICE BLUE GOWN / DREAM MAN (vocal PS: incomplete):
I’VE GOT THE WORLD ON A STRING (vocal PS) / JUST FRIENDS / THE LONESOME ROAD (PS):
This music still exists; its sweet rambunctiousness can be heard if you know where to look. But The Cajun, grotty and weathered, was a special eccentric shrine for those of us, onstage and off, who knew it well.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene. Private collection, New York.
The past isn’t dead, as long as the evidence survives. Two days ago I posted a rollicking CIRIBIRIBIN by the group named above plus John Bucher, cornet. Here is another long-buried souvenir from Wednesday, June 7, 2006, performed at the Cajun Restaurant, New York City. Two originals and an outchorus, for those noting details. Eddy Davis, leader, banjo, vocals, composer; Scott Robinson, C-Melody saxophone; Pete Martinez, clarinet; Jesse Gelber, piano; Debbie Kennedy, string bass: THE LAUGHING BLUES / AN IDEA FROM MARIAN / I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS. I’ve left in all the conversation — at the end of the night — because to edit it out would be painful. Pretend that you were there, no, that you are there. Why not?
The scene: The Cajun, painting by Barbara Rosene. In private collection.
The star: Eddy Davis, banjoist, singer, composer, mischief-maker.
I don’t remember details about this particular Wednesday night at the Cajun — which was soon to close to make way for a high-rise apartment building. But my digital recorder stands in for any gaps in my memory, providing wonderful evidence of what happened more than fifteen years ago. Here is a romping sample — CIRIBIRIBIN, suggested by cornetist John Bucher, sitting in for a set with Eddy, Pete Martinez, clarinet (subbing for Orange Kellin); Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Jesse Gelber, piano (subbing for Conal Fowkes); Debbie Kennedy, string bass. It wasn’t “Dixieland”; it was more an evocation of the sleeves-rolled-up music one heard on Fifty-Second Street, at Eddie Condon’s, a year or so later at The Ear Inn: loose, friendly, playful, expert but hiding its expertise. I think it’s a memorable nine minutes, and when I first unearthed this disc, more than one computer refused to transfer it, so I played it more than a dozen times in hopes that I could vault over the barrier. I loved it more each time, and I hope you will share my enthusiasm.
The building is gone; some of the musicians have moved to other neighborhoods, but the sounds they made and the emotions they evoke are so durable as to be timeless.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene –a Wednesday night. (Don’t miss the upstairs windows!)
And a Wednesday night at that same place — March 29, 2006 — from the cassette recorder I placed on my table, to capture the extraordinary little band led by the unpredictable Eddy Davis, banjo, vocal, and imagination; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone and a bamboo cane that was also a flute — provoking hilarity and awe; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Conal Fowkes, piano; Debbie Kennedy (whose birthday was yesterday), string bass.
Eddy could play the “standard” traditional-jazz repertoire, but his imagination was expansive, so the tunes for this fifty-minute visit to the past are far from the usual: COME RAIN OR COME SHINE (which Eddy sings and then provides a chordal roadmap for the rest of the band — before a patron wants to take a photograph of the band) / WHAT WILL I TELL MY HEART? (a song presumably new to the band, at a rocking tempo which builds a splendid momentum: I assure you I was not clapping along) / PLAY, FIDDLE, PLAY (bringing the balalaika to Eighth Avenue, then Eddy’s vocal interrupted by “miscellaneous instruments”) / WHERE BEAUTY LIES (Eddy’s original composition, which no one had seen before) / I’LL NEVER HAVE TO DREAM AGAIN (“the Conal Fowkes Show” which leads into Eddy becoming Billy Eckstine for a few bars, before Conal shows off his sweet way with a ballad, even at a trotting tempo) — songs associated with Frank, Bing, Slam, Fats Domino, Isham Jones, Connie Boswell, and more. What a mix of tenderness and assertive swing, lyricism and surprises:
Beautiful, idiosyncratic music, casting its own spells. We were so fortunate to hear and see it. And if you weren’t at a front table between 2005-6, I hope the sounds create their own magic.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene. Private collection, New York.
From left, the artist herself, coming out of the subway; street person with dog; (inside window) Sean, bartender; Herb Maslin, CEO, Charlie Levenson, jazz enthusiast; Eddy Davis; Scott Robinson; Jay, occasional Cajun host; Debbie Kennedy; Simon Wettenhall, trumpet; Mr. Spoons; Orange Kellin. The Green Vespa is unclaimed. No doubt Arlene Lichterman was indoors, taking care of things. Be sure to linger over the windows above and their lively inhabitants. Thanks to Ms. Rosene for the identifications.Eddy Davis, courtesy of ScienSonic Laboratories.
Ah, a Wednesday night fifteen years ago is so far away but also right at hand, depending on which lens you use. The distant past that isn’t really that distant when we can hear it.
Here is a recording of a Wednesday night gig by Eddy Davis’ WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM (or his NEW ORLEANS JAZZ BAND, I don’t know what name he was using that night): Eddy, banjo, vocals, leader; Debbie Kennedy, string bass; Conal Fowkes, piano; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone.
The recording medium was my cassette recorder placed on the table; the sound feels narrow at first but give it ninety seconds for your ears to adjust. They will.
The songs are STUMBLING / THAT OLD FEELING / STARDUST / IN A SENTIMENTAL MOOD / AS LONG AS I LIVE / GOOD -BYE / AUTUMN LEAVES / MARGIE / SWEETHEART OF ALL MY DREAMS (Conal) / SOMEBODY STOLE MY GAL (Conal) //
Eddy Davis was the ringmaster of his own circus, both benevolent and imperious, and he allowed us to come in under the huge brightly-colored for regular visits. His imagination was hugely expansive, and in this performance you will hear how reverently his musical colleagues had chosen to follow him.
Within the first five or six minutes of this performance, you will hear the magical intuitive synchronicity that this working band had — they are having the time of their lives while expertly navigating the curves at any tempo. The solos are casually eloquent; the interplay is at the very highest level. And there are the hallmarks of an Eddy Davis performance: the idiosyncratic stream-of-consciousness chat to and with the audience, the surprising cadenza-false endings, Eddy’s vocals that initially might sound as if he was ordering breakfast at the diner but that soon reveal passion. I also cherish the unorthodox instrumentation. Somewhere that night, a quick walk away, a jazz group of trumpet, alto, piano, bass, drums was having their own good time, but the sounds these musicians got were special: their own sonic aquarium, with the most remarkable bounce at any tempo. And they could get up a ferocious momentum that makes me think of the Bechet-Spanier Big Four or the 1938 Basie band: hear the outchorus of SOMEBODY STOLE MY GAL.
The Cajun was a scene in itself even when the music wasn’t playing — a vanished world where art and commerce looked warily at each other and settled in for the evening — and I miss it deeply.
So here’s an unedited visit to that world, an ordinary night in 2006 where the music was anything but ordinary:
What a privilege to have been there; I hope you feel it too, even if you were elsewhere that night.
Postscript: if you’re charmed by Barbara Rosene’s art (and she has a wide range) you can see more of it here.
Three good friends; three telepathic musicians, celebrating Mildred Bailey and the great songwriters of the period: Barbara Rosene, vocal; Conal Fowkes, piano; Danny Tobias, trumpet, captured on a hot evening at Mezzrow on West Tenth Street in Greenwich Village, New York City.
This all happened in 2017, but Barbara is back in New York City for a visit — and there’s a gig (!) on Tuesday, August 3, at Swing 46 (349 West 46th Street, between Eighth and Ninth Avenues) from 9 PM — with sterling musicians and friends Michael Hashim, alto and soprano saxophone; Jesse Gelber, piano; Kevin Dorn, drums.
I’d call the mood of the 2017 gig elegant barrelhouse, but you are free to create your own string of adjectives, your own oxymorons of praise.
WHERE ARE YOU?
IN LOVE IN VAIN, a masterpiece by Jerome Kern and heart-broken Leo Robin:
NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS:
What sensitive playful teamwork. And Barbara lights up the skies.
Since 2006, when permitted, I have been going to jazz performances with a knapsack of video cameras, etc. Hard on my shoulders, good for my soul.
In the musically-arid landscape of the pandemic, that world seems mystically distant, but it is accessible: what was fleeting was captured. I have been rediscovering joyous music to share with you.
One such evening was spent at Mezzrow, downstairs on West Tenth Street in Greenwich Village, in the company of three heroic friends: Barbara Rosene, vocal; Danny Tobias, cornet; Conal Fowkes, piano — an intimate presentation of songs associated with Mildred Bailey . . . but each song made warmly individual by these three generous creators. And a bonus: Barbara’s delightful commentary, veering between heartfelt and hilarious, in between songs.
A different night at Mezzrow, but you get the idea.
Let’s start with some fun: Fats Waller’s CONCENTRATIN’ ON YOU:
A revenge song with a bounce, SOMEDAY SWEETHEART:
The people at the adjacent table had a loud discussion with the gracious waitperson — so this video starts after Barbara’s first chorus, alas, but I love this song, THE MOON GOT IN MY EYES, and couldn’t bear to lose it:
and, to close off this segment, GEORGIA ON MY MIND, particularly relevant:
Some weeks back, I posted an exciting instrumental version of SONG OF THE WANDERER (WHERE SHALL I GO?) by Carl Sonny Leyland, Jacob Zimmerman, Jeff Hamilton, and Lakshmi Ramirez, and mentioned that one of the best versions I knew was by a Harry James – Basie contingent with Helen Humes singing, but that I didn’t know versions with the verse.
A dear friend wrote in and said, “You know, Barbara Rosene made a marvelous recording of that for Stomp Off, and she sings the verse.”
Perfectly correct, and I’d forgotten (shame on me)! It’s from March 2007, and the band is Tom Roberts, cornet; Jon-Erik Kellso, trumpet; Brad Shigeta, trombone; Pete Martinez, soprano and tenor saxophone; Mike Hashim, soprano and alto saxophone; Conal Fowkes, piano; Craig Ventresco, banjo; Brian Nalepka, string bass, tuba; Kevin Dorn, drums. The wonderfully hip arrangement is by Pete Martinez:
Barbara has a beautiful voice — if she tells the telemarketer to not call her again, the person on the other end of the phone has heard a little concert — but that is only the foundation of her art, which is a multi-colored mixture of tenderness, sentiment, swing, a joy even in the saddest songs . . . depths that resonate with us but never feel mannered or ponderous. She is that rare creature, an adult whose awareness comes through the lyrics: she knows what she’s singing about.
Her art is not only contained on those plastic discs and YouTube videos, but it is living in bright colors and subtle hues today.
And when I write “today,” I do mean it. Barbara has been doing a series of streaming cocktail-hour concerts in duet with the gifted pianist Rock Wehrmann and the one coming right up will happen on Friday evening, September 4th, at 6 PM. There’s no formal ticket-link, but when you go on Barbara’s page on Friday, you’ll be able to — as they say — tip the band. And you’ll want to. In case you want to start early and avoid the rush, the links are Venmo- @Barbara-Rosene Paypal- Barbeteart@aol.com.
For the moment, this is my final bowing-low in a series in honor of Eddy Davis (even though I have more music and words from December 26, 2019, to share). I’ve devoted nearly a week of posts to him because of the intense emotional collision of grief and joy he brings forth in me and those who knew him and enjoyed his work. His play, I should say. I’ve been going backwards chronologically, and although I saw and enjoyed Eddy and “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” at The Cajun possibly very early in 2005, this 2006 session was the first time I brought a video camera there.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene –a Wednesday night.
Ordinarily, the band would have been Eddy; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin, clarinet; Conal Fowkes, piano; Greg Cohen or Debbie Kennedy, string bass, with guests. For this night — July 5, 2006 — it was Eddy, Scott, Conal, Dmitri Kolesnikov, string bass, Michael Hashim on alto and soprano saxophones, with a guest appearance by Bob Ringwald, piano and vocal.
The camera I was then using recorded to mini-DVD discs, a particularly stubborn medium, so these videos stayed on the shelf until 2017, when I found that I could transfer and share them. I asked Eddy if that was something he would like (he did) and then asked if he would write something about the gig:
WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM
I, Eddy Davis, have in my lifetime had the pleasure of having many wonderful Jazz Bands filled with wonderful musicians. It all started back in “The Windy City” in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I was a Composition student at the Chicago Conservatory and working as a band leader for the Syndicate on Chicago’s infamous Rush Street. Boy, those were the days. During this time many great, interesting musicians came through the band.
Fellows like “Kansas” Fields, who had just returned from a ten year stint in Paris and Charles “Truck” Parham who started in the music business as a truck driver for the Fletcher Henderson Band. He was hauling the band instruments from job to job. When I asked Truck how he got his nickname he told me this story. He said: “One night the bass player got drunk and couldn’t play, so Fletcher said “Hey, Truck, get up on the band stand and act like you are playing the bass.” He said he liked it so much that he bought a bass and learned to play it. When he came to my band he had just gotten off the Pearl Bailey/Louie Bellson trio. When he left my band he joined the CBS staff orchestra. I was lucky enough to have the likes of Frank Powers or Bobby Gordon on Clarinet. I had the wonderful Norman Murphy on trumpet who had been in the Brass section of Gene Krupa’s Big Band. I also had the hilarious Jack “The Bear” Brown on trumpet. My band played opposite the original “Dukes of Dixieland” for a solid year at the club “Bourbon Street” in the middle. There were the Asuntos — Frank, on Trumpet — Freddie on Trombone and PaPa Jack on Trombone and Banjo. Gene Schroeder was on piano (where I learned so much) and the fantastic Barrett Deems on Drums.
At the Sari-S Showboat I was in the band of the great Trombonist Grorg Brunis, the Marsala Brothers, Joe and Marty, along with “Hey Hey” Humphries on drums, were also on the band. Another great band I played on was listed as Junie Cobb’s “Colonels of Corn.” The main reason this band was so great was that they were the very originals of JASS MUSIC. Junie was a multi-instrumentalist who on this band was playing Piano (he also recorded on Banjo). Al Wynn who had been the musical director for the great blues singer “Ma Rainey” was on Trombone and the wonderful Darnell Howard, who made terrific recordings with “Jelly Roll Morton,” was on Clarinet. We were playing at the Sabre Room and I was 17 (maybe 16) years old. I was a member of the last Jabbo Smith “Rhythm Aces” in New York City in the 1970’s.
Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that the band “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” which I had for four or five years at the “Cajun Restaurant” on 16th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan was the thrill of my life. With the GREAT Scott Robinson and Orange Kellin on Reeds and Debbie Kennedy on Bass and MY BROTHER from a another mother — Conal Fowkes — was on Piano (he knows what I’m going to do before I do it and fits me like a glove). These were perhaps the most satisfying Musical Evenings I’ve ever known.
Scott Robinson is easily the best (for me) musical mind and player I’ve ever been in the presents of. I couldn’t come up with enough words to express my JOY with this band for those several years we performed every Wednesday night at the Cajun Restaurant in the great town of Manhattan.
We had two great subs on the night of this video. Dmitri Kolesnikov was on bass and on saxophone, the truly wonderful “The Hat” Michael Hashim.
Mr. Steinman, I would like to thank you so very much for supplying these videos and if you or anyone else has any other footage of any combination of this band, it would please me to no end to know of it.
The Banjoist Eddy “The Manhattan Minstrel” Davis
SWING THAT MUSIC:
WHO WALKS IN WHEN I WALK OUT? / HAPPY BIRTHDAY / I’LL SEE YOU IN MY DREAMS:
AFTER YOU’VE GONE / OLD BONES / YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME / TROUBLE IN MIND, all with vocals by Bob Ringwald:
BLACK BEAUTY / SWEET MAMA (vocal Eddy) / THE CASTLE RENOVATED:
THE CASTLE, concluded (with apologies to Dmitri):
DAPHNE / MY FRIEND (vocal / composition by Conal) / TOO MANY IRONS IN THE FIRE (Conal):
This band was — without exaggeration — a doctoral seminar in ensemble playing and collective momentum. It was an honor to be there, and a greater honor to be able to share these videos with you. And this was a complete evening at the Cajun, just under two hours of live performance. It is as close as any of us will get to that deeply-remembered and now-departed experience.
Debbie Kennedy, the wonderful bassist, Eddy’s dear friend (I think she’d also call herself a student at the University of Davis) has written lovingly about Eddy, and I present her words here:
Eddy was one of the most amazing musicians I ever met in my entire life. SUCH a character with a fierce love of music. One of the best bandleaders I’ve ever played with. I just hope that his passing was painless and that his transition was smooth.
Apart from all the incredible happiness/joy that I experienced from playing with Eddy every Wednesday night at the “Cajun” restaurant from 2000 to 2006 in an extremely special band, I lucked out in 2008 and won a Greencard in the “Greencard Lottery.” Part of that process was that the immigration authorities needed a “Letter of Employment” showing that I would be earning a certain amount of money every year (even though I’d already been living in NYC for 10 years and earned enough to support myself comfortably, I guess they wanted to see that I would be self sufficient and not claim welfare).
Eddy very kindly wrote that Letter of Employment for me, stating that I was working with Woody Allen’s band (which was the truth – I had subbed frequently with the band starting October 2004, but I still wasn’t yet playing on a weekly basis when he wrote it). I strongly feel that his letter (especially with the name “Woody Allen”) clinched the decision for my Greencard to be granted. Thank you Eddy!!
Then, eventually, he was kind enough to have me on the gig with Woody every week, starting a few years ago. It was actually Greg Cohen’s gig, but Greg moved to Berlin at a certain point around 2011 / 2012, so I did end up playing the gig on a weekly basis at that time, when Greg moved to Berlin.
This was an absolutely invaluable experience and was the gig that kept me alive when so many other freelance gigs had dwindled in recent years.
I feel incredibly indebted to Eddy and I feel blessed to have had such regular playing with him for so many years: Giving me the steady gig at the Cajun in 2000, and when that finished in August 2006, I still played with him pretty regularly, culminating in playing every week with him in the Woody band right up until last month.
March 9th was our last gig.
Like some others who knew Eddy well, I thought he was invincible and thought he was going to pull through this – he’d pulled through so many other illnesses before: terrible car accident, shingles, hellish Sciatica, High Cholesterol, high blood pressure, Diabetes…you name it, he’d had it (and he loved to tell you all about it, ha, ha! 😉).
Nothing will equal the pure joy that I felt on such a deep level when we were in the middle of playing a tune, him horsing around, having a great ol’ time.
Rest In Peace, my beautiful friend ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
Eddy loved what I will call “false endings,” where the band appeared to have concluded the song and the performance — and the audience would applaud — but, no, they weren’t through as he would (grinning hugely) launch into a bravura ending that left us cheering.
I think of those “false endings” as a metaphor for Eddy and his art. He appears to have gone, but he hasn’t. As long as we can hear him, see him in videos (and he left us hundreds of solo performances from his apartment), and remember him, he ain’t gone.
Incidentally, I have been posting Barbara Rosene’s painting of The Cajun because it pleases me so — Debbie Kennedy is in it as well as Eddy, Scott Robinson, and Simon Wettenhall — but Barbara has done many other paintings of jazz clubs, landscapes, and abstracts — that are not yet in private collections. And you know me: I only promote artists (visual as well as musical) whose work I love: find out more here.
Eddy Davis was a stubborn fellow — he did what he wanted to, but more important, he would not budge from what he had in mind. (I speak from experience.) So Eddy refuses to go away, which is a wonderful thing.
Here is the third part of my delighted-yet-grieving evocation of him: a session from The Ear Inn on June 3, 2012. The Ear was darker than usual (hence the yellow graininess of the image so that you and I could see as well as hear) but the brilliant music is nearly blinding. The details, and the music, below, as I offered them in September 2012. The first part of my series can be found here; the second part here. I have one more session to offer, from even more years ago. But love and joy and loss are not bound by clocks.
Eight years ago, I first visited the Cajun Restaurant in the West Village (that’s Greenwich Village, New York) on Eighth Avenue. It had been around for a long time, but it was known as the only place that still featured “traditional jazz,” however one defined the term, seven nights and two afternoons a week.*
A regular attraction was the Wednesday night band — a compact unit led by banjoist / singer / composer Eddy Davis, and dubbed by him late in its run WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM. Most often, the instrumentation was Conal Fowkes, string bass; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Orange Kellin, clarinet, and Eddy — four players with a strong lyrical streak who could also make a bandstand seem wildly hot in the tradition of the Bechet-Spanier Big Four or Soprano Summit on an uptempo outchorus.
THE CAJUN, by Barbara Rosene — a Wednesday night.
Since the regular Wednesday night gig ended, this band has gotten together for musical reunions — although not as often as its fans and partisans would like. Thus, I was thrilled to learn that Eddy, Conal, Orange, and Scott would be “the EarRegulars” on Sunday, June 3, 2012, at The Ear Inn. And I present some of the frankly magical results herein.
Eddy would not be insulted, I think, if I called his approach “quirky,” and his whimsical view of the musical spectrum colors and uplifts the band. Another leader might have stuck to the predictable dozen “New Orleans” or “trad” standards, but not Eddy. His musical range, affections, and knowledge are broad — he approaches old songs in new ways and digs up “new” ones that get in the groove deeply. He knows how to set rocking tempos and his colleagues look both happy and inspired. In addition, Eddy writes lyrics — homespun rather than sleek — for some classic jazz tunes, and he sings them from the heart. All of these virtues were on display at The Ear Inn — friendly, jostling, witty solos and ensembles, and performances that took their time to scrape the clouds.
The melody for BABY, YOU’RE THE BEST might be elusive for some, but it has deep roots — Lil Hardin Armstrong’s TWO DEUCES, which Eddy has turned into a love song and the band has turned into a down-home West Village classic:
TWO-A-DAY is one of Eddy’s favorite obscure songs — a Jerry Herman number praising a kind of vaudeville bill (and time and place) from the ill-starred musical MACK AND MABEL, charting the lives and times of Mack Sennett and Mabel Normand. When Eddy sings lyrics about the “atomic age,” Scott emphasizes the point through his distinctive space-age attire:
POTATO HEAD BLUES, with jaunty lyrics and wondrous playing. All for you, Louis:
I DON’T WANT TO SET THE WORLD ON FIRE needs no introduction — recalling the Ink Spots and their sweet lovemaking on Decca Records:
Jon-Erik Kellso, Hot Man Supreme, came into The Ear Inn after another gig — hence the formal wear — sat down, and joined the band for a calypso-infused THE BUCKET’S GOT A HOLE IN IT. Maybe this bucket was full of Red Stripe beer?:
At the start of THANKS A MILLION, you’ll notice an empty chair next to Orange — soon to be filled by the illustrious Dan Block on bass clarinet, with Scott switching over to one of his taragotas, or taragoti — which he’d first taken out for POTATO HEAD BLUES:
STRUTTIN’ WIH SOME BARBECUE, complete with verse:
And the session closed with Eubie Blake’s lovely affirmation, LOVE WILL FIND A WAY, taken at a strolling medium tempo:
P.S. This session happened in the beginning of June and has only emerged three months later — no reflection on the splendid heartfelt music, but because of some small technical difficulties . . . now happily repaired.
*At the end of July 2006, The Cajun closed after a twenty-eight year run — to make way for a faceless high-rise apartment building. When I find myself on Eighth Avenue and Sixteenth Street, I try not to search the spot where it once was. It was a flawed paradise, but we miss it.
Early on in this post, you can see Barbara Rosene’s painting of The Cajun. Barbara, as you know, is also a very personal singer — heartfelt and tender. It was in this incarnation that I first met her, and she knew Eddy before I did. Here are her feelings about him:
Eddy Davis.
He welcomed me on the stage of The Cajun with Conal Fowkes, Debbie Kennedy, Scott Robinson, Simon Wettenhall and a myriad of other players and singers. I never wanted to be anywhere else on Wednesday nights. I would often sing “My Foolish Heart” which was a favorite of my Mom’s and I later realized was a favorite of Eddy’s. He was always so pleased when someone knew something other than the “regular” tunes. He would play “Artificial Flowers,” a Bobby Darin hit, or a Jerry Herman tune. There were no rules. Just good songs.
A few of us worked on a play that he had written for a while and we would do read-throughs at his apartment. One particular time I was late, having just gone through an emotional goodbye with someone we all knew, and he gave me a fatherly hug and an expression of understanding that made me know how much he cared for me. It floored me. This depth of feeling and understanding certainly came out in his music, but not always one on one, so it was very meaningful to me. About this same time he arranged for me to sit in at the Carlyle with Woody Allen for a couple of different nights. He would just gesture for me to come up and sing a chorus without any fanfare. I remember doing “One Sweet Letter From You.” He knew how much this meant to me. If he could give someone an opportunity, he did so with joy and without thought of compensation.
I also loved that he was from Indiana. We were small town midwesterners in Manhattan. He reminded me of the people I had grown up with. We talked the same language. My parents would have liked him. I will miss him terribly. He taught me so much.
Even the most obliviously optimistic among us have to admit that we live in dark times, however one defines that phrase. I don’t know if there are sure-fire ways of making fear vanish permanently, but I do know that being able to focus on light and beauty is at least a temporary cure. And the lovely thing about recorded music is that one can return to it over and over. Side effects may include a brightening of one’s psychic vistas. Go ahead, operate heavy machinery.
In that spirit, here is another installment of the magic that Barbara Rosene and Jon Davis created on December 8, 2019, at Mezzrow on West Tenth Street. I first encountered Barbara fifteen years ago when her repertoire often seemed to delve into the perky, the sassy, the naughty.
As we all have changed, her approach has deepened: she sings of the eternal truths: not just of a desirable man who is six feel of tangible goodness, but of the courage it takes to fall in love and risk failure; the hopes one has for the future; immersions in feeling no matter what the odds. She is braver and wiser, and although I was immediately struck by the beauty of her voice when I first heard her, it is immensely more beautiful now.
You can marvel at it yourself in these four performances. They won’t make the news go away, but they will give you space to have lovely clear thoughts of the best acts we are capable of as loving beings, brave enough to live tenderly.
FOOLS RUSH IN:
IT HAD TO BE YOU:
TIME AFTER TIME:
ON A CLEAR DAY:
In this brand-new era of Social Distancing, Barbara is its very opposite. Even if she sang six to eight feet away from you, you would feel her warmth and her deep understanding of lyrics and melody. And there is no Distance between her, the songs, and our hearts.
Anyone can buy tubes of paint and a canvas at the art supplies store; anyone can buy a blank journal at the bookstore. But there’s so much work, contemplation and self-contemplation that must take place before one can become even a fledgling painter or writer. Some divinely talented children create marvels while their driver’s licenses are still new, but I admire those artists whose life-maturity shines through their work.
To me, this is especially true in jazz singing. Anyone can learn the lyrics, learn the melody (from the paper or from hallowed recordings) but what then? Does the singer really understand the meanings of the words and the meanings under the meanings? The finest singers make me feel what it’s like to be dancing cheek to cheek, to be old-fashioned, to make emotional commitments — not only to the imaginary love-object, but to the song, to the songwriters, to the audience.
Barbara Rosene is just one of those artists I admire: she is Growed Up, and it’s not a matter of numbers on her passport: when she sings, I know that she knows what she’s singing about, whether it’s fidelity to an ideal, devotion to beauty, or the hope of fulfillment. Barbara and Jon Davis put on a true master’s class in creating art one evening some months ago at Mezzrow. Here is the example I posted last December: how very touching (even for someone like me, who recoils at every fragment of musical holiday cheer)!
And more. Admire, at your leisure, the deep beauties of Barbara’s voice — but better still are the messages she sends us, complex, easy, and aimed straight at our hearts. And Jon (whom I hadn’t known earlier) is the best partner, enhancing the mood, serving the song rather than saying “Here I am! Look at me!” at every turn — although his solos show off his adult virtuosity as well.
You will find it nearly impossible to locate DREAMSVILLE by using Waze, but Barbara and Jon know where it’s located:
and another adult song, thanks to Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer:
And here Barbara dramatizes hope and the fragility of hope:
Love comes to the rescue, delightfully:
and a wistful yet triumphant Rodgers and Hart opus:
I think it’s lovely to experience Barbara, going her own sweet way. And I trust you know she is also an artist on canvas, her paintings as distinctive as her song.
Beauty is still very much possible: so reassuring.
She continues to be a great singer — not only because of her gorgeous resonant supple voice, but because she knows what the lyrics mean, phrases them so that we feel them too. No tricks, no melodrama, no “acting,” just heartfelt communication. And her art is so touching because she so beautifully conceals the hard work beneath it.
You can see and hear it in this lovely performance, with pianist Jon Davis, recorded at Mezzrow on December 8, 2019.
And here, thanks to Terry Gross and NPR, is the story of how Hugh Martin and Ralph Blaine came to write this song for Judy Garland in 1944.
I will have more performances from Barbara’s recent Mezzrow appearance to share with you in future. And, should you be wondering who painted the quirky portrait of that club and its inhabitants, it is the painterBarbara Rosene — who also has her own beautiful styles — from jazz clubs to starlit scenes to beloved pets to abstracts.
I’ve been thinking about the saxophonist Chuck Wilson, who left us on October 16 (my post about him is here). Chuck came from a tradition where the saxophone made beautiful melodic sounds and blended with other reeds — he was a consummate section leader. It’s a tradition sometimes overlooked today, where it occasionally feels that everyone wants to be a soloist, at length.
But the tradition has been splendidly recalled and embodied by our friend, the brilliantly imaginative multi-instrumentalist, Michael McQuaid in his recent musical gift to us: four musical cameos inspired by the Merle Johnston Saxophone Quartet of 1929-30. The arrangements by Michael — lovely translucencies, swinging and tender — were recorded “with minimal rehearsal” (I emphasize this to hail the professionalism of the players) in the UK on July 27, 2018.
I think of these performances as modern reworkings of classical string quartets, but with a particular harmonic delicacy applied to popular songs of the day, with hot solos implied, delightful counterpoint, and a compositional sense: each arrangement and performance has a wonderful logical shape, a light-hearted emotional resonance. Each performance rewards repeated listening. (I cannot play MY SIN just once.)
The remarkable players are Michael McQuaid (first alto); David Horniblow (second alto); Simon Marsh (tenor); Tom Law (baritone).
IT WAS ONLY A SUN SHOWER, which I associate with Annette Hanshaw, Barbara Rosene, and Tamar Korn:
OUT OF THE DAWN, by Walter Donaldson, from 1928, recorded by the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra:
WASHBOARD BLUES, whose arrangement is inspired by the 1926 recording by Hitch’s Happy Harmonists, with composer Hoagy Carmichael at the piano:
MY SIN, by DeSylva, Brown, and Henderson, also associated with Annette Hanshaw:
I wasn’t the only one astonished by the arrangements and the playing, and I wrote to Michael to ask, “When’s the CD coming out? When’s the concert tour?” No one else is making music like this anywhere.
Michael responded on Facebook:
Once again, this video features great playing from some of London’s best saxophone players. Their musicality is all the more remarkable when one considers this is closer to sight-reading than a fully-rehearsed ensemble.
A few of you have asked whether I’m going to release these recordings. Well, yes – they’re on YouTube anytime you want! But properly producing a full album of this material would require significant rehearsal followed by hours in the studio, and hence probably a wealthy philanthropic benefactor (please message me if that might be you!).
In the meantime, I’ll keep writing saxophone quartet arrangements until I have a whole concert’s/album’s worth. It’s been great reading your positive words on these videos, and I’m glad if I’ve been able to draw attention to the Merle Johnston Saxophone Quartet and their beautiful 1929 records. Our musical heritage is filled with many such neglected treasures, ready to leap into the present (and the future) with only a little of our time and attention.
Since some readers might not have heard the originals, here (courtesy of generous Enrico Borsetti) is the Merle Johnston Saxophone Quartet playing BABY, OH WHERE CAN YOU BE?:
I haven’t found out much about Merle, except that he played clarinet, alto, and tenor, was born in upstate New York, and lived from 1897 to 1978, and was a renowned saxophone teacher. Michael told me that Merle’s students included Larry Teal and Joe Allard (each became a highly influential saxophone teacher in his own right), as well as famous players such as Buddy Collette and Frank Morgan. His legacy is probably more lasting as a teacher than as a player or bandleader!
Merle’s recording career — according to Tom Lord — ran from 1923 to 1930, with Sam Lanin (alongside Red Nichols), Isham Jones, Seger Ellis, the Ipana Troubadours, Jack Miller, a young fellow named Crosby. He was friends with Leo McConville, and he led his own band called the Ceco Couriers, which alludes to a radio program supported by a product: in this case, CeCo radio tubes, advertised in the October 1928 POPULAR SCIENCE (the tubes “cost no more but last longer”).
Did Merle leave the New York City studio scene after the stock market crash for the security of a teaching career? Can it be that no one interviewed him or one of his pupils? Incidentally, when I do online research on someone obscure and find that one of the resources is this — a JAZZ LIVES post I wrote in 2011 — I am both amused and dismayed.
“Research!” to quote Lennie Kunstadt. Calling David Fletcher!
And here’s another gorgeous quartet record, this one of DO SOMETHING:
I post the two Merle Johnston “originals” not to show their superiority to the modern evocations, but to celebrate Michael’s arranging and the playing of the Quartet: to my ears, fully the equal of the antecedents.
Listen once again, and be delighted. I am sure that Chuck is pleased by these sounds also.
Dawn Lambeth, Kris Tokarski, Larry Scala, Nobu Ozaki, Hal Smith, Jonathan Doyle, Marc Caparone at the San Diego Jazz Fest
What Phil Schaap calls “the swing-song tradition” — a nimble swinging singer accompanied by an equally swinging group — is epitomized for most people by the 1933-42 recordings Billie Holiday made with Teddy Wilson, Lester Young, and other luminaries. However, it was going on before Billie entered the studio (Connie Boswell, Lee Wiley, Mildred Bailey) and it continues to this day (Rebecca Kilgore, Daryl Sherman, Barbara Rosene, Petra van Nuis, and others). Dawn Lambeth shines in this setting, and the three performances captured here at the San Diego Jazz Fest both reflect the great tradition and show what joy and art these musicians bring to it. (I was reminded often, as well, of the late-life recordings Maxine Sullivan made in Sweden, which are very dear to me.)
I know that the tradition wasn’t exclusively female — think of Henry “Red” Allen among others — but I am holding back from making a list of all the swingers. You’ll understand.
If you more evidence of Dawn’s magic — and the band’s — before proceeding, I invite you to visit hereand here. She sounds wonderful, and there’s fine riffin’ that evening.
Here are three beauties from that same set. First, Irving Berlin’s ALL BY MYSELF (which is really quite a lament — but not when swung this way):
Then, the tender ONE HOUR — someone is sure to write in and say that it is really called IF I COULD BE WITH YOU ONE HOUR TONIGHT. Yes, Sir (there are no Female Corrections Officers in jazz-blog-land!) — by James P. Johnson and Henry Creamer:
And finally, Mr. Berlin’s I’M PUTTING ALL MY EGGS IN ONE BASKET, with thanks to Fred Astaire, as always:
To quote Chubby Jackson, but without a touch of irony, “Wasn’t that swell?” I certainly think so.
Does popular art follow high art, or the reverse, or are the coincidences simply coincidental? In 1915, Susan Glaspell and George Cram Cook premiered a play, SUPPRESSED DESIRES; 1924, Eugene O’Neill’s DESIRE UNDER THE ELMS; 1929, Dali’s THE ACCOMODATIONS OF DESIRE. PASSION had always been part of the cultural vocabulary, so no need to search out appearances in the Twenties. A graduate student in early modernist popular culture would probably trace some of this to Havelock Ellis, Theodoor Hendrik Van de Velde, and others writing for a curious public. I don’t doubt that Dr. Freud is behind all this in some way, also.
I know that the stereotypical idea of pop songwriters is cigar-smoking fellows looking to make money off the latest craze, but it is possible that some of those brilliant tunesmiths read something in the paper besides the sports pages. Make what you will of the synchronicity or the coincidence, these two songs, HE’S MY SECRET PASSION and MY SUPPRESSED DESIRE enjoyed some fame in that year, the second creation even featured in a film where I would think little was suppressed.
I’ve known MY SUPPRESSED DESIRE for years through the Bing Crosby – Harry Barris – Al Rinker recording, a series of small hot comedic playlets unfolding one after another:
Bing’s “Tell it!” at 1:35 is a favorite moment, and I like the way the recording morphs through moods and tempos — a whole stage show in miniature, with the introduction coming around as the conclusion, and the rocking intensity of Bing’s last bridge.
Here’s a very pleasing Goldkette-styled version by Abe Lyman’s California Orchestra:
There are several excellent contemporary dance band versions of this song — by Coon-Sanders Nighthawks, Verne Buck, and Lud Gluskin — which I leave to you to find on YouTube, because for me the Rhythm Boys’ version blots all the others out.
Now (thanks to Jonathan David Holmes) I have a new recording of HE’S MY SECRET PASSION by The Four Bright Sparks, my favorite new band name, to share with you. I find the instrumental combination of clarinet, xylophone, guitar, drums, and piano entrancing, and Queenie Leonard’s slightly emphatic singing is also charming. Discographer Tom Lord sniffs, “The above was a studio group but they played straight dance music and nearly never featured hot solo work,” a classic example of jazz-snobbery:
And here is Marion Harris’ impossibly tender reading of PASSION:
Showing that passion has living validity in this century also, Barbara Rosene and friends (among others, Conal Fowkes, Michael Hashim, Pete Martinez, Brian Nalepka, and Craig Ventresco) in 2007:
Barbara, Conal Fowkes, and Danny Tobias will be performing at Mezzrow on West Tenth Street in New York City on June 13. Her shows are always delightful, and, yes, attendance will be taken.
Attentive textual explicators will note that these are not the same song at all: the singer of PASSION is wistful and hopeful that an introduction can be arranged and great things will result, where the singer of SUPPRESSED notes accurately that the Object of Desire belongs to someone else, which is an entirely different situation. But these recordings and the songs are atypically cheerful — no one is lamenting that the opportunity has passed forever. For listeners, we hope for the best: gratified passion, reciprocated desire.
The Cajun Restaurant, no longer extant but the vibrations and sights still exist here and in our memories.
Eddy Davis, “The Manhattan Minstrel”
A little more than a week ago, I posted the first of a three-part series on this wonderful band, with videos from 2006 that I rediscovered. I am taking the liberty of reprinting the text from that post here. And the music from that first post is also here. (For those impatient with prose — and some have told me this in ungentle terms — the new video is at the bottom of this posting.)
Late in 2005, I made my way to an unusual New York City jazz club, The Cajun, run by Arlene Lichterman and the late Herb Maslin. Unusual for many reasons, some of which I won’t explicate here, but mostly because it offered traditional jazz bands nine times a week — seven evenings and two brunch performances.
Who was there? I will leave someone out, so apologies in advance, but Kevin Dorn, Jon-Erik Kellso, Vince Giordano, John Gill, Michael Bank, J. Walter Hawkes, Pete Martinez, Michael Hashim, Scott Robinson, Barbara Rosene, Danny Tobias, Steve Little, Bob Thompson, Barbara Dreiwitz, Dick Dreiwitz, Hank Ross, Craig Ventresco, Carol Sudhalter, Peter Ecklund, Brad Shigeta, John Bucher, Sam Ulano, Stanley King, and Eddy Davis — banjoist, singer, composer. More about Eddy and his wondrously singular little band, “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm,” which was no hyperbole, in a moment.
Originally I brought my cassette recorder to tape some of the music, but I had a small epiphany: seeing that every grandparent I knew had a video camera to take to the kids’ school play, I thought, “If they can learn to do this, so can I,” and I bought my first: a Sony that used mini-DVDs, each of which ran about 30 minutes. It was, I think, the most inconvenient camera I’ve ever owned. For some reason that I can’t recall, I tended to let the discs run rather than starting and stopping. They were, however, nearly untransferable, and they sat in small stacks in a bookcase.
This April, though, I tried to take a cyber-detour, and was able to transfer all the videos, perhaps forty hours or so, to my computer and thus to YouTube. I sent some to the players and the response was not always enthusiastic, but Eddy Davis was thrilled to have his little band captured, even though it did not have all of its usual personnel. Usually, WR and WR had Orange Kellin, clarinet; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Conal Fowkes, piano and vocal; Debbie Kennedy, string bass, in addition to Eddy. On this night, Michael Hashim replaced Orange; Dmitri Kolesnikov took Debbie’s place. [Update to this posting: pianist / singer Bob Ringwald of California and father of Molly, sits in for this set.]
I find these videos thrilling: this band rocked exuberantly and apparently was a small jazz perpetual motion machine, a small group where the musicians smiled at each other all night long, and it wasn’t a show for the audience. And there’s some of the most exciting ensemble interplay I’ve ever heard — to say nothing of the truly false “false endings.”
I’d asked Eddy to write something for this post, and he responded gloriously.
WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM
I, Eddy Davis, have in my lifetime had the pleasure of having many wonderful Jazz Bands filled with wonderful musicians. It all started back in “The Windy City” in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I was a Composition student at the Chicago Conservatory and working as a band leader for the Syndicate on Chicago’s infamous Rush Street. Boy, those were the days. During this time many great, interesting musicians came through the band.
Fellows like “Kansas” Fields, who had just returned from a ten year stint in Paris and Charles “Truck” Parham who started in the music business as a truck driver for the Fletcher Henderson Band. He was hauling the band instruments from job to job. When I asked Truck how he got his nickname he told me this story. He said: “One night the bass player got drunk and couldn’t play, so Fletcher said “Hey, Truck, get up on the band stand and act like you are playing the bass.” He said he liked it so much that he bought a bass and learned to play it. When he came to my band he had just gotten off the Pearl Bailey/Louie Bellson trio. When he left my band he joined the CBS staff orchestra. I was lucky enough to have the likes of Frank Powers or Bobby Gordon on Clarinet. I had the wonderful Norman Murphy on trumpet who had been in the Brass section of Gene Krupa’s Big Band. I also had the hilarious Jack “The Bear” Brown on trumpet. My band played opposite the original “Dukes of Dixieland” for a solid year at the club “Bourbon Street” in the middle. There were the Asuntos — Frank, on Trumpet — Freddie on Trombone and PaPa Jack on Trombone and Banjo. Gene Schroeder was on piano (where I learned so much) and the fantastic Barrett Deems on Drums.
At the Sari-S Showboat I was in the band of the great Trombonist Grorg Brunis, the Marsala Brothers, Joe and Marty, along with “Hey Hey” Humphries on drums, were also on the band. Another great band I played on was listed as Junie Cobb’s “Colonels of Corn.” The main reason this band was so great was that they were the very originals of JASS MUSIC. Junie was a multi-instrumentalist who on this band was playing Piano (he also recorded on Banjo). Al Wynn who had been the musical director for the great blues singer “Ma Rainey” was on Trombone and the wonderful Darnell Howard, who made terrific recordings with “Jelly Roll Morton,” was on Clarinet. We were playing at the Sabre Room and I was 17 (maybe 16) years old. I was a member of the last Jabbo Smith “Rhythm Aces” in New York City in the 1970’s.
Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that the band “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” which I had for four or five years at the “Cajun Restaurant” on 16th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan was the thrill of my life. With the GREAT Scott Robinson and Orange Kellin on Reeds and Debbie Kennedy on Bass and MY BROTHER from a another mother — Conal Fowkes — was on Piano (he knows what I’m going to do before I do it and fits me like a glove). These were perhaps the most satisfying Musical Evenings I’ve ever known.
Scott Robinson is easily the best (for me) musical mind and player I’ve ever been in the presents of. I couldn’t come up with enough words to express my JOY with this band for those several years we performed every Wednesday night at the Cajun Restaurant in the great town of Manhattan.
We had two great subs on the night of this video. Dmitri Kolesnikov was on bass and on saxophone, the truly wonderful “The Hat” Michael Hashim.
Mr. Steinman, I would like to thank you so very much for supplying these videos and if you or anyone else has any other footage of any combination of this band, it would please me to no end to know of it.
The Banjoist Eddy “The Manhattan Minstrel” Davis
The songs are AFTER YOU’VE GONE / OLD BONES / YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF ME / TROUBLE IN MIND, all with vocals by Bob.
It’s so lovely to be able to reach back into the past and find it’s not only accessible but glowing. There’s more to come.
Late in 2005, I made my way to an unusual New York City jazz club, The Cajun, run by Arlene Lichterman and the late Herb Maslin. Unusual for many reasons, some of which I won’t explicate here, but mostly because it offered traditional jazz bands nine times a week — seven evenings and two brunch performances.
Who was there? I will leave someone out, so apologies in advance, but Kevin Dorn, Jon-Erik Kellso, Vince Giordano, John Gill, Michael Bank, J. Walter Hawkes, Pete Martinez, Michael Hashim, Scott Robinson, Barbara Rosene, Danny Tobias, Steve Little, Bob Thompson, Barbara Dreiwitz, Dick Dreiwitz, Hank Ross, Craig Ventresco, Carol Sudhalter, Peter Ecklund, Brad Shigeta, John Bucher, Sam Ulano, Stanley King, and Eddy Davis — banjoist, singer, composer. More about Eddy and his wondrously singular little band, “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm,” which was no hyperbole, in a moment.
Originally I brought my cassette recorder to tape some of the music, but I had a small epiphany: seeing that every grandparent I knew had a video camera to take to the kids’ school play, I thought, “If they can learn to do this, so can I,” and I bought my first: a Sony that used mini-DVDs, each of which ran about 30 minutes. It was, I think, the most inconvenient camera I’ve ever owned. For some reason that I can’t recall, I tended to let the discs run rather than starting and stopping. They were, however, nearly untransferable, and they sat in small stacks in a bookcase.
This April, though, I tried to take a cyber-detour, and was able to transfer all the videos, perhaps forty hours or so, to my computer and thus to YouTube. I sent some to the players and the response was not always enthusiastic, but Eddy Davis was thrilled to have his little band captured, even though it did not have all of its usual personnel. Usually, WR and WR had Orange Kellin, clarinet; Scott Robinson, C-melody saxophone; Conal Fowkes, piano and vocal; Debbie Kennedy, string bass, in addition to Eddy. On this night, Michael Hashim replaced Orange; Dmitri Kolesnikov took Debbie’s place.
I find these videos thrilling: this band rocked exuberantly and apparently was a small jazz perpetual motion machine, a small group where the musicians smiled at each other all night long, and it wasn’t a show for the audience. And there’s some of the most exciting ensemble interplay I’ve ever heard — to say nothing of the truly false “false endings.”
I’d asked Eddy to write something for this post, and he responded gloriously.
WILD REEDS AND WICKED RHYTHM
I, Eddy Davis, have in my lifetime had the pleasure of having many wonderful Jazz Bands filled with wonderful musicians. It all started back in “The Windy City” in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. I was a Composition student at the Chicago Conservatory and working as a band leader for the Syndicate on Chicago’s infamous Rush Street. Boy, those were the days. During this time many great, interesting musicians came through the band.
Fellows like “Kansas” Fields, who had just returned from a ten year stint in Paris and Charles “Truck” Parham who started in the music business as a truck driver for the Fletcher Henderson Band. He was hauling the band instruments from job to job. When I asked Truck how he got his nickname he told me this story. He said: “One night the bass player got drunk and couldn’t play, so Fletcher said “Hey, Truck, get up on the band stand and act like you are playing the bass.” He said he liked it so much that he bought a bass and learned to play it. When he came to my band he had just gotten off the Pearl Bailey/Louie Bellson trio. When he left my band he joined the CBS staff orchestra. I was lucky enough to have the likes of Frank Powers or Bobby Gordon on Clarinet. I had the wonderful Norman Murphy on trumpet who had been in the Brass section of Gene Krupa’s Big Band. I also had the hilarious Jack “The Bear” Brown on trumpet. My band played opposite the original “Dukes of Dixieland” for a solid year at the club “Bourbon Street” in the middle. There were the Asuntos — Frank, on Trumpet — Freddie on Trombone and PaPa Jack on Trombone and Banjo. Gene Schroeder was on piano (where I learned so much) and the fantastic Barrett Deems on Drums.
At the Sari-S Showboat I was in the band of the great Trombonist Grorg Brunis, the Marsala Brothers, Joe and Marty, along with “Hey Hey” Humphries on drums, were also on the band. Another great band I played on was listed as Junie Cobb’s “Colonels of Corn.” The main reason this band was so great was that they were the very originals of JASS MUSIC. Junie was a multi-instrumentalist who on this band was playing Piano (he also recorded on Banjo). Al Wynn who had been the musical director for the great blues singer “Ma Rainey” was on Trombone and the wonderful Darnell Howard, who made terrific recordings with “Jelly Roll Morton,” was on Clarinet. We were playing at the Sabre Room and I was 17 (maybe 16) years old. I was a member of the last Jabbo Smith “Rhythm Aces” in New York City in the 1970’s.
Well, I could go on and on, but I’ll just say that the band “Wild Reeds and Wicked Rhythm” which I had for four or five years at the “Cajun Restaurant” on 16th Street and 8th Avenue in Manhattan was the thrill of my life. With the GREAT Scott Robinson and Orange Kellin on Reeds and Debbie Kennedy on Bass and MY BROTHER from a another mother — Conal Fowkes — was on Piano (he knows what I’m going to do before I do it and fits me like a glove). These were perhaps the most satisfying Musical Evenings I’ve ever known.
Scott Robinson is easily the best (for me) musical mind and player I’ve ever been in the presents of. I couldn’t come up with enough words to express my JOY with this band for those several years we performed every Wednesday night at the Cajun Restaurant in the great town of Manhattan.
We had two great subs on the night of this video. Dmitri Kolesnikov was on bass and on saxophone, the truly wonderful “The Hat” Michael Hashim.
Mr. Steinman, I would like to thank you so very much for supplying these videos and if you or anyone else has any other footage of any combination of this band, it would please me to no end to know of it.
The Banjoist Eddy “The Manhattan Minstrel” Davis
Here’s the first part of the evening. Eddy announces the songs, some of them his originals and a few transformations — all listed in the descriptions below the videos.
Come with me to the glorious days of 2006, to a club that has been replaced by a faceless high-rise apartment building, which has none of the joyous energy of the band and the Cajun. And enjoy the music, with no cover charge — yours for keeps.
Michael Hashim, June 2016. Photograph by Tara O’Grady.
About three weeks ago, singer Barbara Rosene and pianist Ehud Asherie delighted us with an evening of music at Mezzrow; early on they were joined by the reed wizard Michael Hashim. I have become used to hear Michael doubling on alto and soprano saxophones — our mutually pleasing acquaintanceship goes back to very late 2004 or early 2005. But that night, coming from a gig playing for NYU graduation ceremonies, he brought his tenor saxophone along. If you’ve never met Michael, he is an absolute virtuoso (and someone deeply interested in a scholarly way in many artistic endeavors that don’t have reeds in them).
Ehud Asherie is simply one of the finest pianists of this or any other jazz era, as a soloist or a wonderfully subtle accompanist. But I think this is the first opportunity I’ve had to observe and record Ehud and Michael as a duo. And the results, although too brief, are spectacular.
A dazzling CHINATOWN, MY CHINATOWN:
And a campanologist’s delight, RING DEM BELLS:
Thank you, Michael and Ehud. Give this duo a gig! A CD! A weekly gig . . . !
I’ve known the warmly delightful singer Barbara Rosene for a dozen years . . . encountering her first, I believe, at The Cajun. Barbara has been pursuing a different — but related — art recently, with paintings of jazz scenes in New York and a few depictions elsewhere.
To learn more about Barbara’s paintings and the book above, visit here.
Barbara held a showing of her paintings at Mezzrow, on West Tenth Street, last Thursday, and a number of art lovers showed up to admire. Many friends were there: Neal Siegal, Debbie Kennedy, Dan Morgenstern, Simon Wettenhall, Pete Martinez, Conal Fowkes, Danny Tobias, Hank O’Neal, Maggie Condon, Marcia Salter, and many others.
Where Barbara is, music follows. As it did, impromptu and without amplification. The happy results below.
Conal Fowkes at the piano, exploring DEEP NIGHT, a song he recalled playing for Barbara many moons ago:
Danny Tobias joined Conal for a lyrical WRAP YOUR TROUBLES IN DREAMS:
LADY BE GOOD:
THESE FOOLISH THINGS:
THIS CAN’T BE LOVE:
SUNDAY:
LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME:
Barbara was urged to come up and sing, which she did, beautifully, without amplification, allowing the resonant beauty of her voice to come through with great clarity, on IT HAD TO BE YOU:
SWEET LORRAINE:
Barbara returned for A HUNDRED YEARS FROM TODAY:
How I wish that more jazz sessions could be like this: singing, relaxed, melodic, lyrical. Maybe someone needs to start booking Fowkes-Tobias-Rosene?
Barbara Rosene is a great, subtly emotive singer. Her warm voice caresses the melody and lyrics, and her deep feeling takes us inside each song, making each composition its own small drama or comedy. New Yorkers like myself have known this for more than a decade; if you’ve heard Barbara with the Harry James Orchestra, you know it as well.
Barbara and the splendid pianist Ehud Asherie performed two sets at Mezzrow (West Tenth Street, New York City) a week ago, on May 17, 2016. Early in the evening, Barbara and Ehud offered one of my favorite songs, LAUGHING AT LIFE. As she points out, most people know the song from Billie Holiday’s rollicking version — with elating assistance from Lester Young and Roy Eldridge — but it goes back to 1930, with recordings by Ruth Etting and McKinney’s Cotton Pickers. (My guess is that John Hammond, who loved the older songs, suggested it to Billie, although the Goodman band was playing it on broadcasts a few years earlier.)
A sidelight: I had not known about this 1933 pre-Code film, which might not even have the song included, but who can pass up a poster like this?
To get back to our subject: I was instantly moved by Barbara’s rendition of the song — which could be sweetly maudlin in less subtle hands or sped up to “swing it.” The tempo is perfect, and her delivery is sweetly, endearingly convincingly. The rich textures of her voice are marvelous in themselves.
I don’t think anyone will be guffawing or chortling in empathy once the video has left its mark, but I know that Barbara and Ehud add to our collective happiness, as they always do. (Ehud’s medium tempos are a wonderful education in themselves.)
And Barbara always has my permission to sit down.
Here’s the relevant evidence. And there will be more music from this delightful evening at Mezzrow. (A word about that club: it is comfortable in every possible way, and the music is lovingly the center of attention, as it should be.)
Barbara Rosene is an endearing singer and person. Here’s what I wrote about her in the first posting from a wonderful duo-recital with Ehud Asherie at Mezzrow:
I thought Barbara Rosene was a delightful singer when I first heard her in 2005, and she has become an even deeper pleasure in the years that followed. Forgiveme for writing that an artist has “matured”: people are neither cheese nor wine, but the emotional depths that Barbara reaches now — easily, casually, as if everyone could sing this way — are breathtaking. She doesn’t just sing the words; she embodies the feeling that animates them.
The first pleasure is simply in Barbara’s voice: not a lulling monochromatic croon, but a resonant instrument lovely at bottom and top, full of quiet shadings. There’s no harshness, no ironic edge, but she is not an old-fashioned copier of records. Within eight bars, you can bask in the glow and warmth of her voice itself, but you can also feel her deep understanding of both the melodiccontours and the words — the ways in which they complement each other. I’ve never heard Barbara stand at a distance from the song or deliver any aspect of it mechanically. She is not in any way a prisoner of that gorgeous instrument; rather, she uses her voice with great fervor and delicacy to send us lovable truths.
And she is a multi-faceted artist. Were I to present this geographically, I would venture that Barbara is one part Ohio (shined shoes for family dinners, a sweet reverence for the natural world, inherent good manners) and one part Upper West Side (the ability to negotiate a crowded subway or the Sunday-morning rush at Zabar’s — someone who won’t be pushed around). Maybe it’s the intersection of church and eroticism, of Annette Hanshaw and Bessie Smith. You’ll have to parse that one for yourself.
Barbara has good taste in songs and in musicians — witness her latest duo-performance at Mezzrow with piano wizard Ehud Asherie on February 16, 2016. Ehud is, as always, brilliantly orchestral in solo and tremendously sensitive as an accompanist.
Here is the first part of the evening’s festivities. And the second follows:
MY MELANCHOLY BABY:
NOBODY CARES IF I’M BLUE:
WEATHER BIRD / TWO DEUCES (an astonishing solo by Ehud, which I have written about here):
THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE AIR (a beautiful song — in the tender way Barbara approaches it — that’s probably unknown to most):
Call the locksmith! YOU’VE GOT THE RIGHT KEY BUT THE WRONG KEYHOLE:
SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES (thinking of Diane Keaton and Bobby Hackett):
Barbara’s warm embrace of both her songs and her audience is lovely and rare.
JAZZ LIVES 